Some Kind Of Beautiful
by Miss Nihilist
Summary: Your name is Dave Strider, and you are convinced that you are worthless. Your best friend and crush, Karkat Vantas, disagrees. (Warning! Contains elements of sexual abuse and rape!)


**A/N: This is the first time I've written a story like this, so I apologize in advance if it isn't very... accurate or realistic.**

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Her name is Victoria.

You assume that she has a last name too, but she's never told you what it is. You asked for it once. She told you that it was none of your business. You didn't ask again.

You met her five months ago, coming down from the the roof after a long strife with your Bro. He typically just flashstepped inside, leaving you to scrape your sweaty body off of the asphalt and drag your sorry self back down the steps and into to the apartment.

She was leaning against the wall outside her apartment, a door down from your own. There was a cigarette set casually between her lips despite the sign drilled into the plaster across from her declaring it to be against building code. Victoria looked you up and down once, and sniffed in disdain. "You look like shit." She had told you.

"Thanks." You had replied.

There was a pause, and she offered you a cigar. You accepted, letting her light it, and that was how your first meeting with her went. Just the two of you silently smoking against the wall, arms just barely brushing against each other. At the time, you thought that you had just made a friend in person for once.

You could not have been more wrong.

Two weeks passed without seeing her, and you didn't think much of it. She was quieter than you had anticipated. Most of the people in the building were obnoxious assholes when it came to volume control (your Bro), but she was so quiet that sometimes you wondered if you had just imagined her. You wouldn't have been surprised. John, Jade, and Rose were all great friends, but there was a difference between fucking Washington and right next door. Maybe you were just desperate for physical contact and imagined the meeting.

In the end, you ran into her while doing laundry. There was always the option to buy your own washing machine and avoid the hassle of going down twenty flights of stairs with baskets piled high with dirty clothes, but Bro didn't make enough money for that. Either that, or he just didn't care enough to fork over that kind of cash. You never were certain. Usually, he would help you carry the baskets downstairs, and then promptly fuck off to Lord knows where while you stayed behind to make sure no one took your shit. After that, you had to fold the clothes and carry them back upstairs. Sometimes Bro would help with that too, but usually he was gone the rest of the day, only coming home around three in the morning. You think that he's working when he's out, but honestly, you would believe it if he told you that he's living a double life as a secret agent. Your life is already ridiculous enough. So why not?

Victoria was entering the room as you finished folding, getting ready to head back up. You don't remember exactly what was said, but it ended with you and her sitting against the cement wall, laundry long forgotten and another cigarette between your fingers. You had smoked previously- just once back before Bro quit and you managed to swipe one of his. You choked on the smoke a few times, and Victoria laughed, patted your back, and helped you try again. Before long, you two fell into a routine. Every Saturday, you were both there, from seven until whenever you could finally shut up. Sometimes, you stayed with her down there until two in the morning before you finally called it a night.

You remember thinking that you were in love.

And three months into knowing her, she told you that she was, too. Two minutes later, her hand was down your pants, her teeth and tongue marking your collarbone, and all you could feel was… wrong. You didn't want this, here and now on the floor of the public laundry room. You told her so, and Victoria told you that of course you wanted it. You were hard, after all. Flushed, panting, and moaning when she rubbed you just the right way. So clearly you must want it.

You tried to push her off of you, quickly growing uncomfortable. She held fast, and that was when you threatened to tell someone. Victoria had laughed. "Tell who?" She had mocked, sneering at you. "Your Bro? The manager? They would never believe you over me- the poor innocent girl that you took advantage of. You have no one, Dave. I'm all you've got, and you know it."

In the end, you lost your virginity that night, her hands scratching red welts into your chest as she used you like a sex toy. In the beginning, you cried, but she just slapped you and told you to stop, so you eventually just held them in.

She told you that it was "fucking" and that you and she would be doing a lot more of it, unless you wanted her to cry wolf. You wanted to correct her, because it was called "rape" and you would rather kill yourself (or her) than let her do it again, but instead all you did was bow your head and take your laundry upstairs.

You sat in the shower for a few hours once you got home. You turned it on as hot as it would go, and tolerated the burning. You wanted to feel clean again, but no matter how hard you scrubbed or sobber or whimpered pleas to just be fucking left _alone_ , all you could feel was her hands sliding over you, her manicure raking across your back and breaking your skin. It was only when your Bro threatened to beat the door down and the water went cold did you get out. You didn't sleep that night. Or the night after.

You decided that you didn't know what love was, and that you didn't want to, either.

The next Saturday, you did your laundry as soon as you got home from school and barricaded yourself in your room. It was one of those nights where Bro was home, sprawled out on the couch in his boxers and watching Pretty Little Liars. You were curled up under your bed when he knocked on your door, saying that you had a friend visiting. Your blood went cold, but somehow, you found the strength to get up and answer him. Victoria was standing next to Bro, every bit the innocent little girl, and she smiled at you the way she did when you first ran into her all those months ago in the laundry room.

And you realized something.

That smile, the lingering touches you hadn't noticed, the way she eyed you like a piece of meat- she never was your friend. The whole time, she was faking it to draw you in closer and go in for the kill. You thought that you might have been a person to her at some point, but now you know of sure that that isn't true. She never saw you as anything more than something to use.

Bro left the two of you alone in your room, and it took all of ten seconds for her to have you pinned to the wall by your neck. You felt pathetic and useless as she cut off your airways. All of those strifes with Bro, all of the training, and what good is it doing you? No- what good are _you_ doing _it_? But your strifes with Bro were different. They were routine- familiar. And they never terrified you the way the look in her eyes did. Your vision went black at the edges, your weak efforts to escape her hold ceasing completely, and only then did she drop you to the floor.

Victoria scowled down at you as you struggled for breath, like your lack of air was just so inconvenient to her. Once you could breathe again, she sighed, straddling you and cupping your face with surprising gentleness. "Oh, Dave." She muttered, pressing feather-light kisses against the bruises forming into a hand-shaped ring around your neck. You shivered, and tried to pull away, but you were sitting pressed up against the wall and too dizzy from lack of oxygen to offer more than a small groan. "Dave, you're so lovely." She continued. "I knew as soon as I saw you that I had to have you. I love you, Dave. I don't want to hurt you. I'm sorry. Just be good for me, alright? And I'll never hurt you again. I promise." Victoria pulled back to look at you, pulling your shades from your face to look into your eyes. "My house." She told you. "Saturdays- our usual time. Think you can manage that, Dave? Be there. I don't want to have to hurt you again." You nodded (anything to keep her hands off of you), and she smiled, kissing the tip of your nose. "Good. I love you so much, Dave. Do you love me?" You didn't reply, and her gaze hardened. "Do you love me?" She repeated more firmly.

"I love you." You whimpered out. That satisfied her, and she kissed you again, despite your clear distaste, long and passionate. You didn't respond much beyond opening your mouth when prompted to let her taste you. Soon, you would discover that it didn't matter if you responded or not. She would just use you anyway, because a toy was all you would ever be good for. And Victoria never let you forget it. You can't recall when exactly she switched from "I love you" to "you better not fuck this up again" but it's probably unimportant. At least the second thing is truthful.

The decision to get a job is surprisingly easy. You don't have the energy for much of anything besides finding as many reasons as possible to be out of the apartment building. You talk to John, Jade and Rose a lot less now, and for the time being, the excuse of school and end-of-semester exams satisfies them. Rose is suspicious of you of course (when isn't she?), but she isn't prying, and you're so grateful. Because you know you would crack. You would tell her everything, and you don't think that either of you are ready for that.

The only place that will hire you is a little coffee shop about a mile away. You're surprised that anyone did at all, considering that you're a seventeen-year-old with absolutely no references. You had to tell Victoria that you got a job because your Bro wanted you to be saving up for college. The idea of you having a life outside of the apartment building upset her, and you ended up leaving her home with a good-sized bruise over your ribs and a limp, but also her begrudging fact that you need her permission at all makes your blood boil, but the repercussions are bad enough to make you choke down your pride.

You actually hate coffee, but you hate being around Victoria even more, so you take the job. Thinking about how disgusting the smell of coffee beans is, and how stupid the customers can be, and what an asshole your boss is helps you keep your mind off of her. You're not quite happy (you haven't been in months), but it's so fucking _nice_ to forget about your anxieties, even if it's just for a five-hour shift after school on Mondays through Thursdays. It helps. It really, really does, probably more than you can appreciate.

It's December when you meet Karkat. December in Houston isn't that cold at all, but he's wearing two jackets, a scarf, heavy boots, and mittens regardless. When he enters the shop, empty save the two of you, he shrugs out of one of his jackets and drapes it over the back of the chair. It takes him two minutes to work his gloves off, grumbling all the while and slowly growing increasingly frustrated the longer he struggles with it. You can't help but smile, smothering laughter as he finally works one off and slams it against the table like it just killed his father again. You manage to wipe the smile away as he walks up to the counter, and he only looks at the menu above you for about two seconds before his gaze is locked on you.

"How much caffeine can you cram into one cup?" He asks. His voice is a little ragged, like he just got done yelling at someone for six hours. You like it.

You think about his question for a moment. "That depends. Do you want to have a heart attack in your sleep tonight?"

The corner of his mouth quirks into a smile that's quickly subdued. You like that, too. "Surprise me." He tells you. "I'll be fine with either way. I have money to burn and masochistic streak a mile long to feed, and right now, it has a craving for a long, slow, sugar-induced death, so just fuck me up…" His gaze drops to your name tag, "Dave."

"Can do." You smile at him, chuckling as you turn to get him an extra large cup. He's pretty short - probably no more than 5'3" - but he can take it. You can tell. "And your name is…?" It seems only fair, since he gets your name.

"I'm Karkat." He supplies, watching you go about preparing his order. "And you wear shades indoors, so I'm assuming that your middle name is 'Asshole'?"

You do your best to look surprised, putting a hand on your chest dramatically. "How did you know?"

You end up talking to Karkat for two hours before he finally has to leave. He's smiling full-out when he eventually does, and you can't help but feel the slightest bit accomplished. You had forgotten what it was like to be… happy. It's nice. You didn't think that you were even capable of smiling anymore, but you have no such problem around Karkat. You hope that he becomes a regular.

Somehow, you get lucky. Karkat does become a regular. _Your_ regular. He figures out your schedule after a week, which should be creepy to you, but it isn't. You just want him to stick around.

Week two, you get his last name and he gets yours. He snorts at the name "Strider" and you get him back by repeating "Vantass" in a sing-song voice until he takes to beating you with his mittens, and you both collapse into a fit of obnoxious laughter.

Week five earns you his phone number, and you spam him with the shit emoji until he threatens to block your ass. You say that he wouldn't because he loves you too much. Karkat doesn't correct you or block you, and you push the implications of that to the very back of your mind and try not to dwell on it.

Week eight is when you worry that you just fucked everything up.

You don't remember what triggered it, but suddenly all you can think about was that first time. How she touched you and hurt you, marking you as her own. How she tore you apart into something so unrecognizable that no one but herself would ever want to touch you. You thought that Karkat was fixing you, stitch by stitch, but here you are. Huddled up in a little ball behind the counter, curling in on yourself and shaking as your weavings come apart so fast that it makes your head spin. God, you're so pathetic and maybe if you weren't so _weak then she wouldn't have been able to use you and God she's right. It's your fault this is all your fault and if you weren't such a desperate tease it wouldn't have happened but you're hers all hers because no one will ever want you now and_

"Dave?" Karkat's voice brings your tears to a sound halt. And all you can think is _oh fuck not him please not now anyone but him you can't lose him._

But try as you might, you can't quiet your sobs. The shop is silent save your whimpering for a horrendously long pause before you hear approaching footsteps. You tense, but Karkat stops on the other side of the counter. "You would not believe the day I've had, Dave." He begins, and you frown in confusion. "Okay, first, it's a Wednesday, which means school, right? Wrong. My alarm didn't go off and I missed the bus, so I called one of my friends for a ride since he's always late anyway. He's always high or drunk or a mix of the two, and his car smells like meth and someone's upturned dinner, but I didn't have any other option. So I call him for a ride and he says sure and picks me up, but do you know where that asshole takes me? That piece of shit drives all the way down to Galveston. That's an hour and a half drive, Dave! Something in his car must have gotten to me because I didn't even notice until he stopped at the beach. And he wouldn't even take me back until I "lightened up" and "had some motherfucking fun" as if I _didn't_ have a huge ass history test today. It's my worst class, and the teacher is the biggest fucking prick, but no. We just _had_ to stop at the _beach_ for some _fucking_ reason."

Focusing on Karkat's words help ground you to reality. You take deep breaths, tracing the little rivets in the tile beneath your hands. You try to ground yourself in this moment. Because you're not _there_ with _her_ , you're _here_ with _him_ and _he_ makes you feel so goddamn _safe_.

When you stop crying, Karkat eases himself over the counter. For once, you're not wearing a jacket. You got too hot during your break down and never bothered to slip it back on. The bruises, black and blue and red and purple, line your arms like a morbid painting, and Karkat stares for so long that you worry he's going to leave. But he doesn't ask any questions. He just reaches around your shoulders, pulling you against his chest. You cling to him, and the tears start again. Still, Karkat doesn't say anything. He just shushes you, running a hand through your hair while you slowly relax into him.

You think that you're in love, and it absolutely terrifies you.

The next week, Victoria starts checking up on you during work. She claims that it's because she misses you, but you know what the real reason is. You're not as broken as you used to be. You're doing better, and she knows that you're too weak to do that alone. She knows that there's someone else, and you're honestly just surprised that it took her this long to figure it out.

For a few days, Karkat isn't here when she comes in. But you're not foolish enough to hope that it lasts long. You aren't _that_ lucky. He comes in after she's already ordered, sipping her black coffee gingerly from a booth far in the back, but well within earshot.

"Dave!" Karkat greets you, waving, all smiles as he walks over to you. You press your lips into a thin line, faking a smile as Victoria narrows her eyes at him and rises to her feet.

Fuck.

She makes her way behind the counter, putting a hand on your shoulder and batting her eyelashes innocently as she scans Karkat up and down. His confused expression doesn't last long. "Dave, aren't you going to introduce me to your _friend_?" The tone she uses sounds incredibly unfriendly to you. You don't speak, staring at Karkat blankly from behind the safety of your shades. Victoria rolls her eyes, and you just _know_ that you're going to be punished for this when you get home. "I'm Victoria." She extends her hand, and Karkat shakes it warily. "I'm Dave's girlfriend." Something flashes in Karkat's eyes. Something akin to realization.

 _Fuck._

You're an idiot. Of course Karkat was going to make the connections. He isn't a fool. You avert your gaze, giving no more than a nod of confirmation.

Karkat doesn't say anything more. He just orders his usual and leaves, and you swallow the disappointment tightening in your throat. You don't think that he's coming back.

You go home with Victoria after your shift, and you leave her apartment with a split lip, and bite marks smudged with red lipstick all over your thighs. You need to bandage the few where her teeth broke the skin. It aches to move, and you know that she did it on purpose. To remind you of who's laid claim to your body. To remind you that you aren't allowed to be your own person anymore.

When you get into work the next day, Karkat is waiting for you, much to your surprise. Before you can ask what he's here for, he takes your hands in his, holding tight like he's afraid you'll make a break for it if he's not anchoring you. "Move in with me." He blurts out. You can tell that he's been struggling over this for a while. It's in the anxious set of his face, and how he's going to down on his bottom lip as he chews on it nervously.

You say "yes" before you can stop to think about it, and the way he kisses you immediately afterward reassures you that you made the right choice. He brushes his tongue over the split in your lip tenderly, keeping the kiss light to avoid putting too much pressure on it and reopening the wound. Your hands find his waist, and for once, it doesn't feel forced or make your skin crawl with disgust. And when you pull him closer, it's of your own accord.

Nothing has ever felt more right.

Karkat is there when you break up with Victoria. He's there to help you move your stuff into his- _your_ apartment. He's there at night, holding you close and soothing you back to sleep when the nightmares wake you up at four in the morning. He's there to tell you to take your time, months later when you finally tell him the whole story about Victoria and have to take breaks to keep from crying. When he kisses you, it's soft and easy, and you can feel him putting as much affection as he can into the one gesture every single time. When you decide after months of thinking to give yourself to him fully on your high school graduation, it's _your_ decision.

You have to reassure him multiple times, and Karkat checks with you to make sure that you're okay every time he removes another layer. Your shoes- "Are you sure?" Your graduation gown- "Is this alright?" Your boxers- "I love you."

"I love you, too." You breathe back, cupping his cheek, and your lips meet his gently, his hand tracing your thighs. You shiver, and almost pull away because that's when you _remember_. The pudge of your stomach, your weird birthmark, the scars and marks littering your body as a reminder of what you've been through. It's like a neon sign, broadcasting your imperfection clear as day, and you want to cover yourself with the blankets because _you're not good enough for him you never will be and fuck he's going to leave now that he sees how fucked up you are what a mess you are why would he ever love you of all people-_

"You're beautiful." Karkat says suddenly, bringing your train of thought to a screeching halt. You don't get a chance to reply, because Karkat's already continuing. His lips brush against your fingers, kissing the tips of each of them in turn. "I love your hands, Dave. I love how they feel in mine." He kisses the scars over your chest from your strifes with Bro, tracing them as his lips leave them bare until you're a shivering mess. "And I love these little marks. They all mean something - about who you are, and who you will be." Karkat kisses the inside of your thigh, right over the large, bite-shaped scar that _she_ left. "I love that you let me fix you." He breathes against the scar, and you aren't thinking about her anymore. You're thinking about Karkat and how much you love him. How much he loves you. How good it feels to make love instead of fucking. There's a difference, and it's suddenly so clear that it brings tears to your eyes.

Karkat kisses those too, cooing at you until you calm down. "Do you want to stop?" He asks, and the worry in his voice just reaffirms the decision to shake your head.

"Please." You wrap your arms around his neck. "Karkat, I- I need you." You've never needed another person the way you do right now. He's so careful as he kisses his way down your body, like you might break if he goes too fast or too hard, but you think that you'll _shatter_ if he stops now.

You hear the pop of a cap, and one finger, two, three, come and go in a breathless blur. You're shaking with want when he finally pushes into you, seating himself deep inside of you while you adjust. He rubs your hips gently, whispering into your ear how well you're doing and how good you feel and how much _he loves you_ while you wipe away the tears and tell him to just _go_.

And he _goes_ , holding your hips and kissing you passionately as he works in and out of you. The full weight of it all hits you- the feeling of having someone you love _inside of you_ , and you moan, hanging your head back as he picks up the pace. Karkat kisses along the curve of your neck, teeth and tongue well out of the way as he all but worships every expanse of skin he can find. You've never felt so beautiful in all your life.

He's filling you then, groaning and pushing in deep as he spills into you, and the feeling makes everything go white- stars flashing as white pours onto your white skin, and you collapse on the white sheets, exhausted.

"I love you." Karkat says again, wrapping an arm around your waist from behind. He pulls you against him, and you both ignore the stickiness for the time being.

"I love you, too." You reply. You'd be happy to say that every day for the rest of your life. Karkat must be able to tell, because he smiles, turning you to face him so that he can kiss you once more before bed.

There, wrapped in Karkat's embrace with the warmth of _real_ love filling your chest, he tells you one last time, sleepily, how beautiful he thinks you are. And for the first time in your life, you believe it.

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 **A/N: 4,000 words in 3 hours is probably my record. Sorry if this seemed forced or rushed. I wanted to get it done before bed.**

 **And wow, my first DaveKat smut sucks ass. Not even at least literally.**


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